Daniel and Lila didn't linger. They sat close together at the corner table, their conversation quiet enough to be private but threaded with the kind of warmth that carried across the room without effort. When they finished their drinks, Daniel stood first, pulling Lila's chair back for her. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke of habit, not showmanship.
Outside, sunlight caught on the deep polish of his sleek black coupe waiting by the curb. Evan caught a glimpse of the leather interior as Daniel opened the passenger door for her. A few more murmured words passed between them before the engine purred to life, the sound rich and smooth. The car slid away, taillights glowing red as it disappeared past the campus gates—swift, decisive, leaving no trace behind except the faint hum in Evan's chest.
The café was almost empty again, the late afternoon lull settling in. Evan went back to wiping down the counter, slow, methodical movements that gave his hands something to do while his mind replayed every frame.
The door opened again, letting in a burst of chatter. Two students—backpacks slung carelessly, still in half-buttoned shirts from class—dropped into the corner table by the window. They ordered iced coffees but didn't wait for them before leaning in, their conversation spilling into the quiet like an uninvited soundtrack.
"…Did you see Roth in the business school atrium yesterday?" the first one said, his tone half-admiration, half-awe. "Guy's a machine. Full course load, captain of the rowing team, runs the investment club, and he's still the student council president."
"Not just that," the other cut in. "He interned at Roth Group this summer. Heard from a friend in finance—closed some deal worth millions. His dad was bragging about it at the alumni dinner like he'd just married off a prince."
The first one let out a low whistle. "And he's still dating Lila. You know half the guys on campus hate him just for that?"
Evan's rag froze mid-swipe. He bent his head and pretended to rearrange the sugar packets, moving them in neat, perfect rows. But the words wouldn't leave—they lodged in his mind like small, sharp stones that shifted with every step.
By the time his shift ended, the café's hum had faded into a low throb of restlessness inside him.
The student council. It wasn't just about Roth; Evan had been thinking about it since orientation. The flyers on campus promised leadership experience, networking opportunities, a way to "make your mark." His résumé was nothing special—average grades, no sports, no club positions worth mentioning. He had friends, but not the kind who'd vouch for him in the right rooms. Student council could change that.
The next morning, between classes, he walked to the main hall.
The bulletin board stood in the center like a command post for campus life, layers of flyers tacked one over another—club meetings, tutoring offers, lost phones. And there it was:
STUDENT COUNCIL RECRUITMENT – FALL SEMESTER
Bold black letters ran across the header. Below it, in clean print: President: Daniel Roth.
The photo next to the name was painfully perfect—Daniel in a tailored dark suit, crisp white shirt open at the collar, arms folded in a stance that somehow balanced approachability with authority. His smile was easy, but the eyes carried that same unshakable confidence Evan had seen in person. It was the kind of image you'd expect on a campaign banner, not a student flyer.
Evan stood there longer than he realized, reading and re-reading the details he already knew. He could almost hear Tom's voice in his head, dry and certain: Guys like us don't chase things like that.
Maybe Tom was right. Maybe this was one of those glass ceilings you didn't even try to crack.
Still, his hand moved before the thought was finished.
He tore one of the tabs from the bottom of the flyer. The thin strip of paper felt light between his fingers—too light for the weight it seemed to carry.
The tab from the flyer stayed in Evan's wallet for three days before he finally worked up the nerve to scan the QR code.The application form was short—name, major, year, a few lines about why he wanted to join. He kept it simple, checked his grammar twice, and hit send before he could talk himself out of it.
Two days later, an email landed in his inbox: Interview scheduled – Friday, 4 p.m., Student Council Office.
The office was on the top floor of the main hall, all glass walls and polished wood. Even from the hallway, Evan could hear the low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter.
Inside, a long table stretched beneath a wall of windows, sunlight spilling across neat stacks of folders. Daniel Roth sat at the head of the table, jacket draped over the back of his chair, the white shirt fitting perfectly across his shoulders and chest. The open collar revealed just enough of the sharp line of his collarbone to make it look effortless. His watch caught the light as he leaned forward, flipping through a sheet of paper with the same focus someone else might reserve for signing treaties.
Around him sat other council members, each one looking like they belonged in a campus brochure—confident, polished, at ease.
And then Evan saw her.
Lila was on the far side, a red pen in hand, her hair swept over one shoulder. She wore a soft cream blouse tucked into a tailored skirt, the kind of outfit that spoke of elegance without trying. When she glanced up, her eyes met his for the briefest moment—surprise flickering there before something warmer took its place.
Daniel looked up from the paper. "Evan Carter, right?" His voice carried the easy authority of someone used to being listened to. "Business major?"
"Yes, sir," Evan said, his throat dry.
The questions started—why he wanted to join, what he thought he could contribute, examples of leadership experience. Evan answered as best he could, aware of every flaw in his résumé, every gap where others probably had three bullet points.
Halfway through, Daniel leaned back, expression unreadable. "We're looking for people who can handle responsibility. This isn't just résumé padding—it's long hours, real work."
Evan nodded. "I understand."
Silence stretched for a moment, the weight of the room pressing in—until Lila set down her pen.
"I know him," she said, her tone even but certain. "He works at the campus café. He's reliable. Polite. Doesn't get flustered when it's busy."
Daniel's gaze flicked between them, something unspoken passing behind his eyes. Then he gave a short nod. "Alright. We'll see how you do."
Evan didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he stepped out of the office, the late-afternoon light spilling over him. His heart was still hammering—not from the interview, not entirely.
It was the way she'd said I know him, like it mattered.